RMS TITANIC
by PhantomVoldyGleek24601
Summary: On the 100th anniversary year, come back to 1912, where four are journeying on the maiden voyage of the "unsinkable", great ship, to America and new lives...? Read on...Klaine, Finchel...Join them in romance, friendship and love on the infamous vessel...
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! New fic! Really hope you enjoy! :D**

**I promise it's not just a re-write of the movie :P I really hope you like? :D Please review! **

_Dear Diary,_

_I think every day of the boy that I lost that night._

_The boy that I loved. _

_The boy that I would personally go down to the bottom of the ocean, to try desperately to find him, or what's left of him. What's left of him, amongst those hundreds of poor, lost souls that died that night. The frozen, precious remains, because they are all I have left. _

_I would do it in a heartbeat._

_He's down there. I feel him every night of my life. He haunts my dreams like a curse. His eyes stare into my soul, endless reminders of what we should have had. Everything we should have been, everything I should have told him. _

_And it kills me. _

Blaine Anderson was bored. Beneath his feet, he felt the mighty sea gently rock the ship from side to side, making small waves in his champagne glass. At first the movement had been nauseating, but during the hours he'd already been on board, he'd grown accustomed to it. Stood in a corner, leant against the wall, Blaine watched the social evening dinner party and dance unfold before him. There was much chatter and laugher, and some couples danced to the impressive string band, glasses clinking and the occasional burst of high, false laugher. Blaine had a feeling that some of the nausea may actually be due to his snobby, upper-class company. Having been around it all his life, he was still astounded at how out-of-place he felt in his own class. The boastful conversations, the strait-laced dancing, the feeling that everyone was walking on very thin ice, trying desperately not to slip under. From his observations, Blaine watched as each of these high-class, exquisitely-dressed, overly-well-spoken wealthy men and women were permanently looking over their shoulder, trying to consider themselves a little higher in society than their dance partner. There was so much pretence and façade in the air, you could almost taste it. Blaine would hate to live his life like that. But here he was, right in the middle of it all. Blaine _detested_ events like this.

Even after the short time he'd been on the ship; it was only a few hours since they'd left Southampton, he felt as if he'd been aboard the great ocean liner forever. And "forever" was turning out to be unbearably long-and frustratingly dull. And he was about ready to jump overboard.

The _RMS Titanic_. The newspapers had made much of her size, speed and luxury, claiming her to be the greatest cruise ship ever to sail the ocean. True, she was quite the most amazing ship Blaine had yet seen, with her four great funnels and the sheer vastness. He'd been completely in awe of her as they'd boarded earlier today, and couldn't help but be excited. She was the length of Shaftsbury avenue in London, had every modern facility imaginable, and she was utterly unsinkable. Also, she was very beautiful; truly the jewel of the White Star line, and Blaine did indeed feel privileged to be on her maiden voyage. Even if he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.

Tickets on board were like gold-dust-but if Blaine's mother couldn't get one, no one could. Blaine could see her now, dancing a few feet away from him with some wealthy bearded businessman in a sparkly evening dress that little bit too young for her, laughing too high-pitched with her all-too-perfect white teeth. She was "socialite" personified. Blaine was prepared to bet anything she'd only decided to uproot the family and move back to America because of the thought of boasting to her friends that she'd travelled on the maiden voyage of this most famous and great ship. That would be just like her. So, naturally, Blaine had to drop everything, the life he'd had in England, all dreams of attending the Royal College of Music shattered, to accompany his parents back home. Nice.

There was one comfort-his best friend Rachel Berry was also travelling back to New York on this voyage. Her motives were entirely different-her dream was to return to New York to attend drama college and take her astounding talents to Broadway. He could see her too, across the room in a perfect light blue dress, looking amazing. She'd loyally stood beside him for most of the night, until he insisted she go and have fun. Every man in the room wanted to dance with her, all eyes on her-which was just the way she liked it. However, Blaine was rather unnerved by the way a certain passenger stared at her. An old man, perhaps in his fifties or sixties, with grey hair, shifty eyes and a look of untrustworthiness whom Blaine knew to be called Jesse St James was leering at her most unpleasantly.

He had half a mind to go and have a word with him. But every time he tried-his mother would bring a new girl up to him by the arm to introduce. Blaine sighed in frustration. He was prepared to bet he'd met every young, single first-class woman on the entire God-damned vessel. Every few minutes, his mother would take yet another girl of varying attractiveness over to him by the arm, hopeful looks in their eyes that _this_ might finally be the one. She'd smile prettily at him, and he'd have to grimace politely back, as his mother nodded encouragingly. Courteously, he'd talk to her for a while, maybe even dance with her if she insisted. But then, always, he'd thank her for her time, and politely excuse himself.

It was hard to see who was more disappointed, the girls-or his mother.

Blaine hated her trying to play matchmaker, and felt so rude to the women who often looked very disheartened. Rachel nodded understandingly from across the room, knowing-but his mother could _never _understand. Or know.

He hated to be such a disappointment. But he was not about to be something he wasn't.

It wasn't that Blaine wasn't interested in a relationship-it was just…he'd liked someone back in England. He'd liked them a lot. He used to hang around the shop they worked in for hours on end, ducking between shelves, too shy to say a word to them. He wished with all his heart he had now. But it was too late. He never could. Maybe it was better that way, maybe they wouldn't have liked him in kind…_his_ name was Jeramiah.

Blaine clenched his fist. It still hurt…but he forced the feelings away as best he could. No point dwelling on them now…he tried to tell himself.

The party continued as he watched. Rachel tossed her long, shiny hair, dancing like a professional, with every guy in the room, laughing properly and having fun. Blaine envied her. But he was pleased his friend was having such a good time. She'd cried earlier, waving goodbye to her dads at the port as the ship pulled away…

Rachel's future was bright. Blaine didn't know where his was leading…

"Come on, darling, don't look so miserable!" His mother squeezed his arm, gently-but he could sense the frustration in her made-up eyes. Jewellery glittered at her throat, bracelets all up her slender wrists. "At least look like you're enjoying yourself?" she pleaded. Of course. He was embarrassing her, as usual.

"Actually-" His brained whirred. "I'm-I'm rather tired. I think I'm going to go to bed,"

"Oh!" She looked surprised-and a little disappointed. "Well…okay…well, there's always tomorrow…off you go then,"

"Goodnight," Blaine bid her quickly, before she could say anything else, and started across the room. The buzz of chatter and clink of glasses rang in his ears as he passed everyone, waving to Rachel, who barely noticed, in deep conversation with a young woman in a large green dress who'd been "introduced" to Blaine earlier.

He continued along, dodging the people dancing and trying not to-

"Oh!"

Suddenly, something collided with him-and there was a loud shatter of breaking glass and spilling liquid.

"Oh my!"

The Something dived to the ground and hastily began to scrape what was left of the champagne glasses onto the tray. It was a young member of Titanic staff, dressed in the smart waiter suit, a young guy with shiny brunette hair and pale skin, which reminded Blaine of china figures. The nape of his neck was ghostly white as he tried to clean up the mess. He was growing paler. "I'm so sorry, sir!" His rather high, musical voice sounded terrified.

"Oh no, don't worry, it was my fault," Blaine re-assured him gently. The poor guy couldn't have been any older than him, and he seemed so frightened and panicky. Blaine had seen the way some of the upper-class passengers spoke to the staff, like they were so much lower than them, worth so much less. So he understood why the boy was so scared. Pitying him, Blaine knelt down to help him. It _had_ been his fault after all.

"Oh no, sir, you don't have to-it really was my-"

The boy looked up, his eyes still fearful-but surprised. His voice cut off.

Blaine looked back.

He stared.

It was like someone had taken Blaine, and cast him overboard, the water cutting off all sound, blurring his surroundings until nothing was in focus, except what was right in front of him. He felt…he couldn't describe…_what_?…what was this…?

There was golden light. Well, there couldn't have been…but there was. It surrounded the boy in a warm, heavenly glow. This was the only real thing in the room. It was _impossible_…

This was the most beautiful sight Blaine had ever seen.

In the confusion of Blaine's mind, he wondered if an angel had fallen from the sky and landed in front of him, for that was the only explanation he could think of, that could even come close. The boy's face was angelic, innocent, sweet, his snow-white skin flawless. His big eyes were beautiful, mesmerising, blue-green-grey, and deeper than the wide, wide ocean, with long, dark eyelashes, making them even more devastating. His whole physic looked graceful, like a dancer, his lips…

Blaine's description was not doing him justice. But he couldn't think straight. His breath had caught in his throat, almost suffocating him.

There was the strangest feeling in his chest, nothing close to anything he'd ever experienced before. Not just the incredibly quickened pulse…but it felt as if…it wanted to fly. To leave his chest, leave the loneliness behind…and join this beautiful stranger's heart. Like it was no longer a part of him, like it had become entirely separate matter, with it's own mind and will…and it was…it was…

"Oh dear! We are terribly sorry, Mr Anderson!"

A voice broke into the perfect bubble around Blaine and the boy. Shaking his head a little, Blaine came out of the trance in a jolt, like being woken suddenly from a deep and wonderful sleep to a harsh reality.

Groggily, Blaine tore his eyes up. Standing over them was a middle-aged man, in clothes similar to the boy's, but he was obviously superior. "Get up, boy!" he said sharply to the pale stranger. "What are you doing?"

"I…I…"

The boy's high voice, sweet and clear as a bell, stammered.

"For goodness sake! Where's your head? Those glasses are coming out of your wages!"

"I-I'm-I'm sorry-"

"No, it wasn't his fault," Blaine was astounded to discover his voice still worked after the out-of-body experience.

"Mr Anderson, sir, we do apologise for this!" the older man said humbly to Blaine, before turning back to the other boy. "Why do you look so strange, boy? To your feet, and remember-you are here to _work_, not float around with your head in the clouds! Now, kindly focus,"

"Y-yes, sir," The boy stuttered over his words, looking down to the floor. "Sorry sir…Sorry…Mr Anderson,"

Before Blaine could attempt to say a word, he was gone. Slipped away, like a dream. He was lost in the crowd in a heartbeat. Blaine was shellshocked.

"Away with the fairies half the time, that one…" the older man was tutting to Blaine. "We assure you the rest of our crew are far more experienced…Enjoy the voyage, Mr Anderson,"

Blaine barely registered. He started, dumbstruck, after this…this angel. This angel in the middle of the ocean. And then-he breathed out for the first time in what felt like forever. It came out strangely. Like it wasn't his own any more.

Blaine now knew what was meant by the phrase. "Take my breath away,". And "stolen my heart,"

And… "Love at first sight,"…?

**Really hope you enjoyed, PLEASE review :D Thank you so much! :D PVG24601xxxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone! :D **

**Just one thing before we start…**

**Now, there are lots of people talking about character death…:'( I don't like to read character death, therefore I don't really like to write it. IF it does happen-and I'm not saying they're all going to die-after all SOMEONE is writing the diary…I won't drag any death scenes out, I promise :'( Hope you'll read on…? :')**

**And I promise they will be tons of fluffiness beforehand! :D **

**Hope you enjoy! :D PLEASE REVIEW! :D xxx**

_Dear Diary,_

_I thought I saw him today. I saw a boy, about his height and build, with dark hair, a mere few feet in front of me in the street. _

_Filling with warm, wonderful hope, like I never thought I'd feel again, I cried his name, wondering if, by some beautiful miracle, he had come back to me…_

_But no. The person spun curiously around to see who had screamed, just before I grabbed his arm. Different eyes. A different face. Different everything. It wasn't him. _

_How could it have been?_

Uncomfortably, Kurt Hummel turned over in his hard, narrow bed in the crew lodgings. From the small, circular window, moonlight cut across his face like a knife, so sleep was hard to come by. Well. Even with the gentle, rocking motion of the ship which had quickly sent his snoring roommate into slumber, sleep would have been impossible anyway. After the events of that evening.

In his mind, he replayed the scene again and again. The breaking glass, the smash, the fright…then looking up, to see…

Who _was _this man? This man, with the beautiful, deep eyes, like pools of purest, shining gold…Kurt's breath caught just recalling them, how they'd looked at him, like they were staring right into his soul…

Who was he? And _why_ couldn't Kurt stop thinking about him?

_Anderson. _

Kurt's head was spinning, like it was falling uncontrollably through the air, in far distant space. He felt…he couldn't even explain…his heart…it almost hurt, but it shone, brighter than the great, silver moon above…it was…Could he be…_in love _with this Mr Anderson?

He'd always believed in love at first sight. But he'd never thought it would happen to him…

Sighing in frustration, he slapped a hand to his forehead. For God's sake, this was a _first class _man. And he was just a waiter, working under bosses who treated him like a child and a nuisance. He'd had to work all his life just to survive, apprenticed to dress-makers and glovers, doing shop-work…until now. Now, was his chance. America, a new start…Broadway on the horizon, those beautiful, bright lights he'd always dreamed of…

And now this had happened.

Kurt sighed heartedly again. This Mr Anderson (God, even the name made him feel light) probably didn't even remember him…he probably had a girlfriend, or even wife…they came from different worlds…he wouldn't even think about the stupid, klutzy waiter who'd dropped his tray of champagne everywhere…

But…

Kurt was sure…he was _sure_…he'd stared back at him.

Looking out of the window, the sky was full of stars…was _he_ looking at the same stars, wherever he was on this vast ship? He pictured his beautiful face in the stars, his kind, warm, velvety voice filling his soul…he imagined him there beside him…

His head knew he was stupid. There was nothing in this, no chance of any reciprocation of these feelings…but the message hadn't reached his heart. It was like it had closed off the veins running into it, closed off all reason, and only allowed itself to be full of…the deepest love for this _Mr Anderson_….

It sounded absurd. But to Kurt, nothing was more real. More aching, more intense, more painful, more _wonderfully_ ridiculous…

Kurt knew he loved him with all his heart.

* * *

><p>To Finn Hudson, life was coal. He lived and breathed it, and when he closed his eyes at night, he even dreamed about it. Well, coal and food…<p>

Finn had at first worked down in a coal mine, the minute he was old enough-he was fascinated by the stuff. In his very distant memories, he could just about recall a dusty, coaly smell as big, strong arms held him…his late father. So Finn had pretty much from birth known he was destined to work with coal. And where better than on a beautiful, huge ship, where there was piles of the stuff in the engine room?

He didn't have huge aspirations. Finn just wanted to be happy, live a quiet life, find a girl, settle down, have a family. And keep on working with the coal…He would be lying if he said he wasn't loving every minute of his work on this ship.

Well, apart from the back ache, heat and sweating. But he was so used to it-and to the constant layers of coal on his face and clothes-he barely noticed. To be honest, when he looked in the mirror and saw there was no black marks on his cheeks, he felt oddly incomplete. It was quite funny, when his hands were completely covered in black matter and he ran into his stepbrother…oh, he only had to raise them a little, and Kurt would squeal and flinch away, like he was wielding knives at him, and warn him not to get any on his clothes, on pain of agonising death. Finn snorted to himself as he shovelled coal into a neat pile with his huge spade.

Although Kurt had been so utterly, undyingly grateful to him recently. Well, he guessed he _had _been the one to pull some strings and get him the waiter's job on board this ship in order for him to travel to America. He could never have afforded the fare, so this was the only way he could get to New York to achieve his dreams of being an actor on Broadway… but there was only so far grateful went until it became _annoying_. Kurt couldn't do enough for him, following him around like a devoted puppy dog when he wasn't working and trying to help him in any way he could. It was sweet, he guessed. But he was already getting teased by his co-workers…oh well. Even though they were the same age, Kurt was the little brother Finn had always wanted, and he loved him as such. And was _very_ protective of him.

Finn wiped his forehead and dusted off his big, fire gloves. It got so hot down here, with the engine…he could really do with some food…

"Good morning, Finn," came a high, sweet voice from the doorway behind him suddenly. Talk of the devil.

"Hey!" Finn swung around to greet his brother. Kurt stood a little awkwardly in the doorway, obviously very keen not to get dirty while he was down here. He eyed the piles of coal warily, as if expecting them to attack. His pale face was-weird.

Finn frowned. Somehow, he didn't quite look himself…

"You okay?" he asked him, mildly concerned. Kurt did not answer.

"I brought you this," he said, handing him an impressive sandwich.

"Oh, you beauty!" Finn's face lit up as he took the food and began to eat it ravenously. Mmm… "Cheers," he thanked him, through a mouthful of cheese and various other ingredients.

"You're welcome,"

Finn looked up. Kurt's eyes were all…strange. They never looked at him, but into the distance. He seemed to look right _through_ everything, trying to visualise something he couldn't see. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept all night. And, from the way he held himself-he looked pained.

Finn looked down at the half-eaten sandwich. This was a _bribery_ sandwich. He could see right through his brother, always had been able to. Kurt wanted to talk about something.

"Okay," Finn leant on his shovel. "Let's get this over with," He looked expectantly at Kurt.

"What do you mean-?" the countertenor started innocently.

Finn raised an eyebrow. "Come on. You know we get through this much more quickly when you don't beat around the bush. Something's bothering you. Come on, what's up, little bro?"

Sighing sadly, Kurt seemed to shrink. He looked so small and lost, his eyes swimming with fright and confusion. He looked desperately up at Finn, seeming to crumble. "Oh Finn…I don't know what to do!" His voice was thinner than a reed, with a note of desperate longing. The eyes began to fill with-

"Oh no," Finn shook his head, putting his rough hands on Kurt's slender shoulders. "No crying. I'm not having the guys walk in to find you sobbing into my shirt…again…Come on, no waterworks. God, sometimes I think your tears alone could sink this whole ship!"

He tried to laugh-while panicking slightly. He hated it when Kurt cried-though he made out he knew exactly what to do, he never really did, and was always a bit of a fish out of water.

Kurt pursed his lips determinedly, blinking hard. He made a small moaning sound, like a kitten in pain.

"What's up, Kurt?" Finn asked, gentler, loosening his grip on the boy. "I bet it's nothing worth crying over…hey?"

Kurt paused, swallowing hard. Then-he shook his head. "You don't understand…" he murmured. "I…"

"You what?" Finn prompted, feeling the heat of the engine on his back.

Finally, Kurt seemed to just _loose _it. A loathed tear spilled defiantly from his eye as his whole face broke. He brushed it away, as if it had done him a personal wrong-but another replaced it in a heartbeat. He let out a longing, hopeless whimper. "I-" he stammered. "I…"

"Yes?" Finn was more than a little concerned now.

"I think I've fallen in love with a-a first-class man!" he rushed.

That was it.

Finn actually stepped back, shocked to the core. What?

He stared at his brother. There was nothing but truth, honesty, fright and agony in his his eyes. This was no joke.

It took Finn a minute to find his voice.

"What-okay-what do you mean _fallen in love with_?" he asked in amazement.

Kurt turned away, as if shamed-but Finn knew tears were now falling thick and fast. "I mean _fallen in love with_!" His voice suddenly rose to something almost hysterical. "I mean…I don't know what I mean!" More tears fell, splashing down his porcelain cheeks. "Oh Finn, I just had to say it out loud, to _someone_-or I'd go insane!"

He certainly seemed to be. As miniature waterfalls stained his face, Finn's heartstrings tugged with pity…but every other part of him screamed "_He's finally gone mad_!"

But Finn once again was struck dumb with shock as Kurt sank straight down on a _pile of coal_-head in his small, pale hands. He actually gasped. Here was Kurt, knowingly getting covered in soot!

This must be serious.

He couldn't believe it. And had _no idea _what to do.

"I…I've fallen in love with him…" Kurt whimpered into his hands one last time, as if he couldn't stand it-but couldn't help it. Awkwardly, Finn patted him on his shaking shoulder.

"Well," Finn coughed, searching desperately for something helpful to say. "Well...that was stupid,"

* * *

><p>Blaine yawned. His sleepless night was beginning to have an effect on him, and he could barely keep his eyes open.<p>

Who was this stranger? And why did he enchant and hypnotise him like this?

He didn't even know his name…

Blaine was surprised at himself. After Jeramiah…Had he really, after meeting but once…fallen in love?

_Love_?

After a night tossing and turning, going through the situation in his head again and again…he knew. His heart couldn't lie. Blaine was in _love_ with him. With this nameless angel…

"Hello? Hello? Anybody home?"

Slim hands waved in front of his face. Frowning, Blaine came out of his daydream to see Rachel's face right near his as she clicked her fingers at him. "There you are!" She shook her head, tutting. "You weren't even listening to me, were you? And you could have really benefited from my deep discussion on the standard of dance on Broadway. That's actually one of my uppermost reasons for choosing to move back to New York as opposed to London-I have always said, the British just _cannot_ choreograph…Blaine? _Blaine_!"

"Oh?-I'm sorry, Rach," Blaine apologised. "I just…can't seem to concentrate today…" he said mildly, as they sat in one of the ship's many exquisite lounges playing chess. Well, trying to.

Blaine haphazardly moved his knight to a random square, E4, not really thinking about it.

Rolling her eyes, Rachel sighed. "Honestly, Blaine!" She pushed her queen forward and took the piece, adding it to the quickly growing collection of black pieces she'd captured from him. "Your game is unacceptably poor today…"

"Sorry, Rach," he apologised humbly again, unfocusedly moving his one captured white bishop around, thinking about the stranger, picturing his angelic face in the shiny table top.

Rachel's dark plucked eyebrows knitted together. Then suddenly-her eyes shone mischievously.

"Oh my goodness!" Her mouth stretched into a wide, triumphant grin. "Oh my goodness! No way…"

"What?" Blaine asked cautiously.

Giggling excitedly, she grabbed his hand. "You're in _love_!"

Blaine's mouth fell open. "What?"

"I knew it!" she sung triumphantly. "I knew it! Awwwh, Blainey!" She pinched his cheek, laughing. "Who is he?" Her eyes searched around the room, trying to guess. "Have you talked to him? What's he like? Does he like you back? Is he handsome?" she quizzed him keenly.

Snatching his hand away, Blaine shot to his feet. "I don't want to talk about it!" he snapped, annoyed. Turning quickly, he left room hurriedly, feeling guilty for being rude to his best friend-but he couldn't stand Rachel's excited questions just now.

"Hmph!" Rachel sighed, folding her arms. She rolled her eyes again-Blaine could be _such_ a drama queen-and that was coming from _her_. She'd get it out of him…bless… Looking at the half-finished game of chess, she sighed-she was, like, five moves from checkmate…

"_I'll_ finish the game with you,"

Rachel jumped as the voice came from behind her. Spinning in her seat, she looked up to see-the old man from last night. The one who hadn't stopped looking at her-well, more like staring. It had been horribly unnerving. She'd just tried to ignore it-but now here he was, skinny in his black suit, like a funeral director. greasy grey hair and all, looking down at her like she was a particularly delicious cake. Mr Jesse St James, she remembered. A businessman, high up, respected, with more money than anyone needed…

"Well?" he prompted, a sinister half-smile around his lips. "What do you say, huh?"

"Urm…" She searched her mind for a polite way to say "_Get lost, creep,". _

"Come on, dear," He sat down in front of her, where Blaine had been. "I'm a _much _better player than your _friend_…and then…" He raised a skunkish eyebrow. "perhaps to lunch with me?"

"Urm…No, thank you," she answered, springing up as fast as she could and starting to walk out of the room. On reaching the corridor, she quickened her pace, keen to get as far away as possible from Mr St James.

But a few corridors down…she felt someone following her. She walked even faster, warily looking over her shoulder, feeling immensely uncomfortable. Praying she wouldn't trip over her long, yellow satin dress, and wishing she wasn't wearing heels, she was practically running now. She could sense Jesse St James still following her…not far now, she told herself…but she kept walking through unfamiliar doors into strange corridors she'd never seen.

She'd gone the wrong way.

Stopping, she panted a little, panicking slightly. What to do? She couldn't go back…oh God. She could hear him, his heavy breathing as he tried to keep up…

"Hey-are you okay, ma'am?"

Shooting around-a door had opened. There, a sack of coal over his shoulder, and soot all over his face, was an unusually tall man. He would have been intimidating-but his eyes looked genuinely concerned.

"I-I'm okay," she tried, not wanting to bother him, as he looked busy.

"Miss Berry?" Jesse St James appeared behind her, that creepy smile still there. She couldn't help but flinch.

"Is he bothering you?" The tall man's mostly black face frowned slightly threateningly at Mr St James.

The old man let out a superior, but slightly nervous laugh. He was obviously weary of this hard-looking, work-roughened guy, with the heavy sack. "Never mind…I shall see you later, Miss Berry…look after yourself. Goodbye,"

He hobbled through the doors, back toward the first-class sections. Rachel let out a relieved breath, looking gratefully at the tall man. "Thank you, sir,"

The man looked pleasantly surprised. "No one's ever called me "Sir" before!" he laughed. He had a nice laugh, sort of boyish, but warm. Comforting, as if it could look after you. It made Rachel want to smile too.

"Maybe people ought to," she said politely. "You're a gentleman-far more of one than _some_ of those who are frequently called by that title…"

"Ha…" the man laughed again. "Well…glad to, uh, help, ma'am,"

For some reason- Rachel didn't want to stop talking to him.

As he turned to go-she quickly reached into her pocket. "Here," She strode toward him, offering him her handkerchief. "For your face,"

"Oh?" The man looked confused. Even a little-_shy_? "You-you don't have to,"

"Call it a thank you," she smiled. "Here-let…me…"

She reached up-why was her hand shaking?-and began to wipe the thick layer of soot obscuring most of his face away.

The man stared at her in wonder as she worked. He couldn't tear his eyes away. There was silence for a while as Rachel cleaned him up. She dabbed and brushed it away-until skin began to appear.

"You're actually handsome under there," she said lightly. _Crap, why did she say that_?

"T-Thank you," he said, stumbling over the words a little. He seemed a little stunned.

When she had finally finished, she stepped back to admire her work, holding the blackened cloth gingerly. The man put a large, rough hand to his cheek, seeming surprised to feel the soft, clean skin. He smiled. "Hey-thanks,"

Rachel _liked_ him.

"Pleasure," she smiled, dumping the handkerchief in a bin next to them. She held out her hand to him. "Rachel Berry,"

"Oh?" He looked surprised-but pleased. "Great to meet you, uh, Miss Berry. I'm-Finn. Finn Hudson,"

"Charmed," she smiled, as they shook hands.

Was it her-or was there a spark?

**Thank you for reading, more soon! :D Hope you enjoyed, please review! PVG24601xxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey everyone! Hope you enjoy! Please review! Thank you so much to everyone so far! :D **

**Enjoy! PVG24601xxx**

_Dear Diary,_

_Some mornings, I just can't get out of bed. I physically can't._

_I don't know whether it's because I just can't face the world, or because I don't want people either pitying me, or just not knowing a thing and not understanding. Hell, sometimes people who know don't understand. You can't understand unless it has happened to you. There is no way to compare it to anything in the world._

_Or is my inability to get up, get dressed, open the curtains, put the light on, make the coffee…due to my just not seeing the point in anything, without him. _

"You filthy hypocrite!"

Kurt pushed his brother frustratedly in the chest. "After everything you said to me yesterday-!"

"Come on, Kurt, it's not like that!" Finn tried to reason with him.

"After all that "You're wasting your time" and "There's no point" and "You're stupid"-here you are, telling me you're in love with a first-class _woman_!"

"I didn't say _in love_! I'm not like you," He did a cruel impression of swooning, back of his hand pressed to his forehead. "I just said…I…kinda like her,"

Kurt actually slapped a hand to his face. "_Finn_! How _could_ you?"

"Now who's the hypocrite!" Finn felt anger brewing, and spilling out. "Let's face it, Kurt: Miss Rachel Berry and I actually had a really nice chat, and she actually asked me if I'd like to meet up with her again-and what happened to your _Mr Anderson_? You dropped glasses all over his shoes, then went away! You don't even know his first name-!"

Finn stopped himself, seeing his brother's face and realising he'd gone too far. Kurt looked shocked, wounded.

"Oh, Kurt, I didn't mean-" he started quickly.

"Yes you did," Kurt snapped, rage igniting those ocean-like eyes. "You just came here to rub it in my face, didn't you? How could you be so-?"

"No! Kurt, listen. I wasn't thinking…"

"Oh _really_?" Kurt retorted, half furious, half deeply hurt.

There was a long silence. The clock ticked in the background, and there was the distant rumble of engines. The floor rocked gently beneath them. They were well into the Atlantic ocean now, going at an impressive speed. Rumours circulated that they were on their way to setting a new record. Well, what couldn't the Titanic do? For such a huge ship, the speed was phenomenal.

"We're a right pair," Kurt muttered. His tone had calmed down now, breathing level.

"You can say that again,"

"We're a right pair," Kurt smiled weakly. "Look, Finn, I'm really sorry,"

"Me too," Finn shrugged guiltily. "I'm sorry for saying that. I know…you're having a bad time over this…"

Kurt sniffed-obviously, that was an understatement.

"Hey-you never know, right?"

But they both knew he was just being kind.

"…Don't let it get you down, buddy," Finn patted him on the shoulder.

"…Okay," Kurt said in a small voice, putting his hand over Finn's and squeezing it.

* * *

><p>"…so that's the story of my life so far. My move from the USA to England, my thorough yet incredibly fast development and training in every area of the arts, and now my plans for my hopefully successful move to New York in order to pursue a career on stage!" Rachel smiled prettily, like she'd learned exactly how to smile the best she could, crossing one leg over the other.<p>

"Wow," was all an awestruck Finn could manage. He gaped at her, mouth hanging wide open. He wasn't surprised they'd passed Ireland early this morning-because he'd just become the luckiest ex-coalminer in the world.

He just couldn't believe it. Here he was, sat in a _first-class lounge_ during his lunch break, with an _incredibly_ attractive, clever and interesting woman who seemed to _like_ him! He'd paid a younger lad to do the last twenty minutes of his shift so he could put on his best shirt and even borrowed one of Kurt's handkerchiefs to clean up his face. Well, when he said _borrowed_…but he'd left a little bit on his cheeks, just in case she, you know, wanted to wipe it again…what was he _thinking_?

He hadn't opened his mouth yet-and anyway, he was fascinated by Rachel Berry and her funny, if loud and slightly show-offy, life story. And he wouldn't have been able to get a word in edgeways…but it was probably best he didn't say anything, in case he looked stupid, or said something dumb. Because he'd never wanted to mess something up less in his life.

He loved her hair…the way it shone in the light, and the way it was so straight and brunette, and…just so _nice_. Everything about her was nice. Yes, she could talk for America…but what she said was always just sort of…nice.

Finn hadn't had much schooling, it wasn't his fault.

"So why don't you tell me about you?"

Finn almost choked on the shortbread he was eating. "Huh?" he managed.

"Well…I'd like to know all about you!" There was that smile again, the one he couldn't get out of his mind…

She was looking at him expectantly, eyes wide, as if she was really interested in what he had to say. That felt…nice. Actually…_quite_ nice.

"Well…urm…I…work with coal…"

"Yes?" Rachel smiled politely.

"And I…like coal…"

"Yes, it's very…A very good industry,"

God, why couldn't he think of anything to say?

He looked at her, the way one leg was crossed over the other under her today red dress, her hands rested elegantly on the knee. "Hey, you sit like my brother!"

Rachel looked at him.

Oh _shit_.

"Urm-no-urm-I mean-" he hurried, trying desperately to come up with an excuse.

"Oh no, it doesn't matter! Don't worry," she said politely-though she was evidently a bit weirded out. "You're obviously just a little nervous, around a…different…sort of company," She gestured around to the upper class passengers around them; some of them looking at them a little weirdly. Obviously, a woman like Rachel sitting with a reasonably low member of the crew wasn't the done thing. But she didn't seem to care.

"Urm…yeah…that's what it is…"

"Well, don't worry. You shouldn't be uncomfortable with who you are," she smiled. "So anyway, tell me about your brother?"

"Oh! Uh, he's actually on here! I mean, the ship. You know. Working, like me. Only, not like me. He's a waiter. You know-in the restaurant…I'm sorry, what's funny?"

To his surprise, Rachel was quietly laughing behind her hand. "Awwh, you're so sweet!" She squeezed him on the knee.

All the blood in his body rushed to his head.

"No-I'm sorry," she apologised. "That was rude of me…it's just…I love your funny way of talking! Like you're so shy! It's really sweet,"

Oh. That was good, right?

"Oh. Great," Finn tried a charming, sophisticated smile. He was sure the little giggle she gave was a good sign. "So…" he started, keen to move on. "What's your family like?"

"Oh-I have my dads," she smiled.

"Are they…" Finn asked awkwardly. "You know…?"

"Yeah, they've been together twenty-five years,"

"Oh-cool. I mean-I've absolutely nothing against-" he added quickly.

"Oh good," Rachel noticeably looked slightly relieved, and actually leaned further toward him.

"Actually, my brother is gay,"

"Oh!" Rachel looked pleasantly surprised. "The waiter one? Well, if he sits like this…Hey, maybe we should set him up with my friend Blaine!"

"Oh?…I mean, yeah! Yeah!" Finn felt a little weird having this conversation about his little brother, but was prepared to talk about anything with Rachel. "That'd sure stop him _moping_ over this guy…"

Rachel nodded understandingly. "Blaine's the same. He's been _totally_ moping around all day over some guy…he won't even tell me who he is, but it's like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders…love sickness doesn't even cover it!"

Finn laughed. "Hey, they would totally get on…Haha…Kurt Hummel is quite the drama queen…" he grinned, rolling his eyes as he took another bite of shortbread. God, this stuff was _good_…

"Yeah…so's Blaine Anderson," Rachel giggled.

Once again, the mouthful of shortbread almost went down the wrong way as Finn nearly choked. _"Mr Anderson…oh Finn, I think I'm in love with him!" _

As he coughed, he wondered…no, too much of a coincidence…Anderson? _Anderson_? Could it be…

"You okay?" Rachel asked, worriedly, offering him a yellow spotted handkerchief.

Finn took a minute to recover, before asking questions in a way he'd never dreamed of talking to a first-class passenger. "Your Blaine-*cough* Blaine Anderson-does he have golden eyes?"

Rachel blinked. "Urm…they're hazel…but I guess…?"

Finn almost laughed. "Oh my God! I think I know who Blaine Anderson's mystery man is!"

A second…then it clicked! "Oh my goodness!" Rachel squealed, white-gloved hands going to her mouth, covering it. "Did they meet last night at the party thing?"

"They must have!" Finn couldn't believe it. "What are the chances, hey?…"

"Hmm…" She became quiet for a second…then-a spark. "_Hmm_!"

Suddenly-Rachel's whole face changed. In her deep (and, Finn noticed, very beautiful) brown eyes-there was a sudden surge of…_plotting_.

"Uh oh," said Finn instinctively. He'd always been told it was dangerous when women got ideas…

"This is _perfect_," Abruptly, there was a change in Rachel's whole manner. It became business-like, determined. She actually got up and started pacing like a military commander. "Alright, so your brother and my friend, if we are correct, are sick with love for each other…Kurt, wasn't it? The waiter…a little controversial, but look at us!" she grinned.

"Wait-" Finn held a hand up, heart beating hard. "Did you say…_us_?"

But Rachel was continuing. "So…we end their suffering!"

Finn paused. "What do you…?"

Rachel's eyes were shining. "We make _sure_ they meet again!"

"…Oh! You mean, like…we set them up?"

"Yeah!" She beamed delightedly.

"Uh…" _Wow_, this girl worked fast…that was _hot_…but Finn wasn't terribly sure about setting his brother up…Kurt was tough, but pretty delicate, and what if they had the wrong guy?

But on the other hand…it could end Kurt's misery…and would probably mean spending a _lot_ of time with Rachel…

What the hell? It was a win-win.

"Yeah, okay," he shrugged, like it was no big deal. But it was worth everything to see the elated, excited, joyful look in Rachel's eyes….

"Yay!" she squealed-before immediately grabbing his hand and dragging him out of the room.

Finn's felt…like he was flying. As Rachel pulled him along behind her, and people in the halls stared and looked shocked or raised their eyebrows at them, a first-class woman with a boy covered in coal…Finn felt nothing but the small, gloved hand around his…The whole ship could have disappeared under the sea, and he wouldn't have noticed. This was…_amazing_.

"Right, here's the plan," Rachel's business-like tone was back as she towed him up flights of stairs, up the many layers of the vast ship, towards the top deck. She began to tell him all about how she schemed to bring Kurt and Blaine together…

Little did they know what was already happening above them…

* * *

><p>Blaine had spent the day consciously looking for his beautiful stranger. He'd searched all over the ship, through libraries, lounges, corridors, everywhere…but he was nowhere to be found. He'd gone back to the room where they'd met last night…he still couldn't walk past the spot, which still had a faint champagne stain, without a tremor rushing through his heart…He <em>had<em> to find him. Just to quell the pain in his aching heart, he had to see him one more time…but as he looked everywhere, all over this seemingly endless ship…as he climbed up onto the deck, he was staring to feel like it was hopeless…

Ashe came out into the open air, the strong, icy wind knifed his cheek, tainted with salty sea spray. It was so freezing and blowy, Blaine almost turned around to go back inside…

And that's when he saw him.

Like a magical mirage, there he was. It was unmistakably him, Blaine knew, even though he had his back to him. His shiny brunette hair blew in the wind as he leaned over the side of the ship, looking out to the horizon. He was still wearing his waiters' uniform, but over the top was a simple red coat, which blew out behind him.

Blaine's legs went so weak, and his head so light he almost fainted. But he composed himself as much as he could-difficult due to his heart stopping. He couldn't believe it…

He had to talk to him.

Swallowing his nerves, and trying to ignore all shy, scared feelings, he cautiously approached the boy who'd already left a deep mark on his heart.

Finally, he was stood beside him. Taking a deep breath-Blaine spoke.

"Hello,"

The boy jumped a mile. He turned quickly to Blaine, his lovely face frightened. "Oh!" he squeaked, even more scared as their eyes met. "Good-Good afternoon, sir!" he stammered. "May I…can I help you?"

Blaine was just as scared as he was, but tried not to show it. He wondered if the stranger had any idea what he was doing to him.

"W-what's your name?" Blaine asked, before he could stop himself.

The boy looked taken aback, shocked, eyes widening. Blaine _kicked_ himself for being so stupid. But the boy managed to stammer and answer. "It's…Kurt. Kurt Hummel, sir,"

_Kurt Hummel_.

"Kurt…" Blaine tried. It tasted sweet… "Nice to meet you, Kurt," He held out a hand to him. _Kurt_ looked even more abashed, face growing paler.

"Oh!" he squeaked. But, after a miniature paused, where Blaine nearly lowered his hand-he extended a small, perfect, porcelain hand, and shakily shook Blaine's. It felt soft and cool-and sent shivers down Blaine's spine, as their skin touched for the first time. "N-nice to meet you too, Mr Anderson, sir,"

There was electricity. Blaine did not want to let go, to break the circuit…but he had to, reluctantly dropping the hand. Strangely…Kurt seemed reluctant too, looking down at the hand he had just held. Then, quickly, he turned back to looking out to sea, hands grasping the railings tight. As if he was terrified of looking at Blaine too long.

"So…do you come up here often?"

What a _stupid_ question. Blaine inwardly beat himself up. But he had to keep the conversation going, and Kurt seemed only to speak when spoken to.

"Urm…as often as I can, sir…it's such a beautiful view,"

"Yes, it is," Blaine agreed. It was. There was a point in the distance where you couldn't see where the sea ended and the endless sky began. Like the world had no start or end; it went on forever. There was a hint of afternoon sun tinting the waves, so the white, foamy caps shone.

"Sometimes…" Kurt looked out into the ocean. "Sometimes…I just wish I had wings, so I could fly away, right into that horizon…" he sighed…then looked shocked and terrified again. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir!" he gabbled, blushing fiercely. He looked even more like a china doll now. Blaine heart glowed.

"No, no…there's nothing wrong with dreaming…"

Of it's own accord, without Blaine telling it to do so-Blaine's hand reached out-and covered Kurt's one that was grasping the railings.

Kurt audibly gasped, and jumped, staring down at the hands like they did not belong to them-but…he did not pull away.

Blaine's pulse quickened again. "Where would you fly to?" he asked breathlessly.

"Oh…to New York," Kurt's blush deepened, making him even more beautiful…the way his hair blew in the wind…it was all Blaine could do not to kiss him…

"What will you do in New York?" he asked gently.

"I-I'm going to be an actor…I would love to make it all the way to Broadway…" He sighed. "Silly, really,"

"No, not at all," Blaine said quickly, smiling. "Amazing,"

"Really?" Kurt turned to him, eyes shining.

"Yes," Blaine smiled. "Absolutely…"

There was silence for a while.

Blaine took another deep breath, trying to work up the nerve. He looked at the beautiful boy he was stood with; no artist could have painted a more angelic face. And there was something so innocent and pure about him…Blaine found himself falling in love all over again…

Now or never.

"Kurt?" he asked, with a nervous cough. "I…I was wondering if…if you'd like to…"

"Kurt? Kurt, where are you, lad?"

A booming voice came from inside the ship. Kurt seemed to zap back to his senses, looking at Blaine like a deer in the headlamps.

"I have to go. Goodbye sir!"

He ran off, so fast, hand slipping from under Blaine's, and sprinted toward the voice as if he was terrified.

"Kurt!" Blaine called after him. But he didn't look round, closing the door behind him with a bang. And he was gone.

**Next chapter soon! Thank you so much for reading, please review, if you'd like to! They mean a lot :D :D PVG24601xxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey everyone! Sorry it's been so long, but I've been so busy, and my mum hurt herself, but she's okay-ish now, thankfully :')**

**Be prepared for cheesiness! :P Maybe everyone take something from this though...I wish I had :P**

**Hope you enjoy, please review! :') xxx**

"I have to admit, I am a little disheartened by the way we just saw Kurt run away from Blaine, looking terrified out of his wits, and how Blaine has moped off inside, looking utterly defeated," Rachel said pointedly, hands on her slim hips.

"Ah," Finn agreed. He didn't know what else to say-but it hurt him a lot to see his brother so distressed. He wondered if he should go after him…but Rachel was already pulling him back inside, talking non-stop and very fast. _God_, she talked a lot…seriously, he'd never known someone with so much to say. But for some reason…everything she said completely fascinated him. I mean, he was just the sweaty, dusty, working-class guy with just enough money to keep him afloat…and he'd had the good fortune to met her, and she'd already completely shaken up his life. He was simply so in awe of her life, her way of speaking, her extensive vocabulary…he had a feeling he could listen to her forever. Just listen…

"Oh, I hate to see Blaine upset…" Rachel looked mournful, as she took a breath, leading him back inside into the warmth. Finn watched as her long, straight hair stopped blowing in the wind and fell straight to her shoulders. He loved the way it shone, the perfectness of her fringe, as if it was stuck to her forehead, so even and flawless…but he tried not to stare. Not wanting to appear rude, or out of place, he interested himself in the freshly-painted walls of the corridors they were passing through, the paintings hung up in the first-class sections he'd never seen. Rachel occasionally stopped to tell him an artist's name, or model's name, but he barely took it in, the words washing around him like the tide on a beach…

He'd spent so long with her now…well, it felt like it. In reality, it was only a matter of hours since they'd met. But he felt like he'd known her much longer…

"Oh my God!"

Suddenly, Finn caught sight of the clock on the wall-his break had ended half an hour ago!

"Oh my God! Rachel, I'm so sorry, I have to go!"

He began to run off-he was _dead_…but then he looked back at her. She looked a little surprised, confused, hurt. His heartstrings tugged…what he wouldn't give to spend the whole day with her…but he had to go. His job had to come first…but, for the first time ever…he didn't want to get back to the coal. He wanted to stay…

"I'm sorry," he rushed, before forcing himself to turn away and beginning to run like crazy back to the engines of the ship, hoping no one would have noticed his lateness.

* * *

><p>Blaine groaned like a dying old man, collapsing down in an armchair in a first-class lounge. It was pretty much empty, but he didn't notice.<p>

That was it. He'd blown it.

Looking down at his hand, he cursed it for what it did. If he hadn't have taken his hand over the railings…

But it had felt so _right_…so _wonderful_…the pale, perfect skin of _Kurt Hummel's _hands was as soft and light as he'd imagined. For a moment, he could feel the gentle, rhythmic pulse at a pressure point under his skin…

He'd never feel that again.

Sighing even heavier, he felt like throwing himself off the side of the ship, into the water where no one could reach him. The one thing that had given him some hope on this God-dammed ship…and he'd thrown it away, just like that. He _hated _himself, he must have made the poor boy so uncomfortable…no wonder he was so frightened. The look in his eyes just before he ran away, like a deer in the headlamps, in a desperate dash to escape…

Why did it have to end like this? He hated to think that he'd upset the boy he'd found himself caring so much about, so much more than he ever had for anyone…

He knew it was ridiculous…how could he be in_ love _with someone he barely knew…

He'd give up.

He'd give up, and they'd both get on with their lives. Kurt was gone now, out of reach. He'd have to carry on, alone. Or perhaps he'd have to marry some girl his mother picked, live a lie, every with this terrible guilt…and ever with the memory of Kurt's face, tormenting him…reminding him of what he could have had.

It was hopeless. Blaine couldn't go on like this. He couldn't.

"Hello," came a voice.

Reluctantly, Blaine forced his head up to see someone standing before him. Someone in a long, pale blue silk dress, with neat pointed shoes and a headband artfully placed in her long, light brown hair. She had a full, straight fringe, and freckles on her nose. She looked a little younger than him, but not much, perhaps in her mid to late teens? Her tone was British and rather well-spoken, but slightly nervous, even though she looked confident. She had big eyes with long lashes, and Blaine noticed she was very, even uncommonly pretty, even beautiful, with a fresh look, as if she'd grown up in the countryside with lots of clean air and sunshine. Her pretty face was arranged into a "can-I-help-you?" smile, her gloved hands clasped in front of her.

"Blaine Anderson?" she asked him.

Blaine started-he didn't recognise her. Had they met? "Y-Yes, that's me…?"

She laughed a little here. Her laugh suited her-it was good-humoured and bell-like, without being too loud. She had quite a soft voice, but it managed to have a sort of power behind it too, as if she knew exactly what she was doing and how to do it. It was re-assuring. "I didn't think you'd remember me," she giggled. "We met last night, at the dance?"

Blaine's mind flickered…he'd met so many girls that night-well, his mother had dragged them to him in their hundreds…and he'd been so depressed that night, faces and names barely registered…

"I wore a green dress?" she prompted.

He frowned…oh yes. As he was leaving, Rachel was talking to a girl in a green dress. He remembered now…but she'd had her hair up. She'd been one of the later one's to be "introduced" to him, and had been very nice about it when he'd had to excuse himself.

He nodded at her, and she smiled wider, looking a little like Rachel, but with slightly softer, younger features. Sitting down on the chair next to him, she placed her clasped hands in her lap. Her gloves were lace, with a flowery pattern. "I'm Louise," she told him. "Louise Monnewell,"

That name did sound vaguely familiar. "Nice to meet you again," he said politely, trying not to sound too downhearted.

"And you," she answered. There was a small pause as she waited for him to say something back. Blaine felt rude-but he really didn't feel like making small-talk. As nice as this girl seemed.

When the pause became too long, Louise tried again. "How are you?"

"Fine," he answered a little too quickly. He could see, to his surprise-that she saw right though it. Like Rachel-she was obviously very perceptive…

It then occurred to him that one could not really collapse into a chair and moan loudly and sadly without someone noticing and asking questions

"Are you okay?" she asked, gentler.

He didn't answer for a second. Then, carefully: "No. No, I'm not,"

Louise looked surprised. "Oh…Well, not many guys have the guts to admit, so I respect you for that…care to tell me?"

Her voice was softly encouraging. All of a sudden, Blaine felt like crying. It touched him that this almost stranger seemed so genuinely concerned about him, and was willing to give up her time to help him. He liked the way she talked, the British tones, frank, but sensitive too. Her eyes were deep, as if they held secrets. She looked trustworthy, like someone you could easily be a friend of, someone to talk to when you needed…

But he couldn't. He sighed again. "Look…Louise…what would you…I mean…what would you do if you'd just screwed something up- I mean, really screwed it up…and now…" From her face, he could easily see he'd already confused her. But he didn't really want to go into too much detail…that would hurt too much. He made a gesture, trying to convey his feelings. It just made him feel more stupid.

"Sorry," he apologised.

"No, don't say that!" Her eyes were wide, kind pitying. "Don't apologise! It's okay, darling,"

She put a small, slim hand on his shoulder. It was so nice, so comforting-Blaine actually felt tears behind his eyes. He blinked them back determinedly, willing them not to spill and make him look like even more of a prat.

"You're not stupid," she said, as if she'd read his mind. "Don't worry…"

"I don't know what to do," His lips moved without him really telling them to.

Her hand held tighter, squeezing comfortingly, warmly. "Darling…if we never screwed things up, where would we be?"

He looked up, shocked. "What do you mean?"

"Well…what about when the army surgeon Pare ran out of cauterising oil on that battle field? He tried something else-that old Roman method-and it cured the soldiers better, and lead to a better understanding of how to safely treat wounds. I bet Pare considered that to be the best thing that ever happened to him-even though it might have seemed terrible at the time, it went on to help him, right?"

Blaine frowned-but nodded. That was true.

"What I'm trying to say…look, don't let an implication stop you trying to do whatever it is you screwed up. However bad it might seem-maybe it could just make you stronger, make you fight harder," She squeezed his shoulder again. "Is this worth fighting for?"

"Yes," Blaine answered automatically, before he'd even thought about it.

Louise smiled. "Remember, Blaine, nothing is impossible. If you want it badly enough…if it was meant to happen…it'll come. Everyone can do something amazing, if only they have the courage to do it,"

Courage.

Blaine sat up a little straighter. Louise moved her hand in slow circles on his back. "Rachel told me that you haven't had it easy…but look at you. You're still here. Still here, facing the day. That's more than can be said for a lot of people. And if you want something, truly, with all your heart…then you go for it," she told him. "Have the courage to go back and fight for it-and have the courage to carry on. Even if it seems a long-shot…you'll never know unless you try. You could spend your whole life wishing…or you could dive right in and give it everything,"

Blaine looked at her, tears still glistening in his hazel eyes. She looked back, still smiling kindly, sympathising-but her eyes were determined. "Go for it, Blaine. Reach for whatever it is you desire, and never stop fighting. I believe in you,"

Sometimes a few kind words, even from a stranger, can change everything.

Sometimes, fate is kind. It looks upon one with favour, with liking, and decides to grant a wish to a fortunate individual. It senses the helpless, but true longing of someone for someone else…and gives them hope. It puts in a starred, misty, ever-changing hand and makes something happen in the universe, which changes everything. Never big changes…but just enough to turn someone's life in anew direction.

No one ever thinks this hand could strike them. It always happens to someone else. But, once in a millennium…something special happens. Something incredible, to someone very fortunate, why really deserved it.

Such an event occurred on the E deck of the _RMS Titanic_. And angels smiled when it did.

Upon leaving the lounge, after thanking Louise very much and giving her a hug-Blaine Anderson promptly tripped on some loose carpet and fell down the stairs, knocking him out cold.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! Hope you didn't have to wait too long! **

**In this chapter, you can play "Spot The Harry Potter Reference"! :D **

**There's a bit in here where I quote some things from the series, but they're a bit altered, so sorry if you're a purist, but I hope you still like!**

**Be prepared for CHEESE and FLUFF :D**

**As always, I own nothing :D **

**Enjoy! Reviews are always very much appreciated :D xxx**

_Dear Diary,_

_I dreamed about him last night. There he was, stood still like a statue, facing away from me. I ran to him, but as I touched his arm…it was cold as snow, hard as a rock. It was a perfect representation of my beloved boy…but in frozen ice. At first I did not panic; it was only a sculpture of some sort…but as I walked around to face him…the eyes still moved. He looked at me, unable to move the rest of his face…but there was no mistaking the fear and begging in his eyes, pleading me. But I could do nothing._

_I don't know how much longer I can take this._

For the second time in two days, there was a deafening shatter of smashing glass as a tray was dropped from Kurt's shocked hands, crashing to the floor and spilling liquid everywhere. But he barely noticed; his heart, filling quickly with forbidding dread, began to race unpleasantly as he ran, barely feeling the contact of the soles of his shiny black pointed shoes with the carpeted floor, towards the crumpled mess that now lay at the foot of the stairs. He ran as fast as he could, and when he got there, checked the face. He was right.

A huge wave of panic hit him, harder than any of the waves crashing against the side of the ship.

"Mr Anderson?" he asked timidly, voice quivering with fright. "Mr Anderson?"

There was no movement. He was obviously out cold. His beautiful face was perfectly motionless, his limbs at awkward angles, though nothing looked broken. The fear in Kurt's heart grew as he lay frozen on the floor, the man who had not left Kurt's mind, the face which had tortured him at night, haunted him by day. Dropping to his knees beside him, he quickly placed a hand on his chest to check for pulse-and immediately gasped, feeling as if an electric shock had just coursed through him…but he tried to ignore his own impossibly fast pulse as he tried to find the beating under the passenger's shirt…ah, there it was. Steady. Kurt breathed a sigh, with what might have been relief…it occurred to him he should have just checked his wrist…but there you go. At least he was alive. Although completely unconscious. The worry wasn't quite gone.

He looked down at the still, peaceful face-and lost all concentration. The smooth, warm skin, the long dark eyelashes, the almost black curly hair…without him telling it to, his hand drifted to the tanned cheek and stroked it gently, heart racing, feeling as if it were on fire…then he forced himself to snap back to his senses. He needed to get help.

Swiftly, he looked around. The hall was deserted.

"I'll be right back," he told the unconscious guy. Getting to his feet-he hesitated. He hated to leave him all alone. But what then? He had to find someone who knew what to do.

"I'm sorry," he told the Mr Anderson. Then, he turned on his heels and ran as fast as he could to find assistance.

…

"Honestly, Kurt, I have no idea why you came running to me. Seriously, I'm already in enough trouble as it is, what with my lateness, but now you come dashing into the engine room practically hyperventilating and whimpering about an accident. Was I really the best person to find? Couldn't you have found the ship's doctor, or something?"

"I'm sorry, I panicked," Kurt had broken down into tears, as he anxiously followed behind Finn. In his strong, muscled arms, was the still-out-cold, floppy body of Mr Anderson. After the initial shock and confusion, Finn had decided the best thing they could do was to take him back to his room on the ship. So now his curly head lolled weakly against Finn's chest, bumping slightly every step. Kurt scurried behind, worried out of his mind, tears staining his cheeks.

Despite the situation, every time Kurt looked at Mr Anderson…he was reminded of everything he could never have…these feeling were wasted. It hurt. He wished he hadn't run away so fast on the deck-it was only because he was scared. But now he knew he'd blown everything.

Kicking himself, Kurt sighed. There was nothing to blow. He had to keep reminding himself of that? In what world would this beautiful first-class man love someone like him?

"And then I find it's your _Mr Anderson_-" Finn was saying.

"He's not _my_ Mr Anderson!" Kurt retorted, frustrated, tears spilling. _And he never will be…_

There was a pause as they reached the correct corridor of first-class cabins. It was lucky Finn knew the ship back to front. Finally, they reached the correct door.

"Okay," Finn's tone had softened. "Okay…we'll just leave him on the bed-"

"We can't just _leave_ him!"

"Well, what do you propose we do?"

"I'll stay,"

The words came out of Kurt's mouth before he could prevent them. He actually put a hand over it. Stopping, Finn actually turned around, Mr Anderson's foot hitting the doorframe. But he was still motionless.

"What? Kurt, that's crazy-"

"What if he's hurt himself badly, or something?" Kurt reasoned.

Finn looked annoyed-but his eyes were sad. "Kurt…look. It would be inappropriate. And, frankly, I don't think you could stand to be alone with him. It wouldn't be any good for you…" He trailed off. "I'm just worried about your-your feelings here…" Kurt felt a pang-he knew his brother was right.

But he had to. What if Mr Anderson was concussed, or something?

"I'll manage," he said, in a small voice. "I should stay,"

Finn paused a moment, looking carefully at his brother. It was written all over his face what he thought.

But-he sighed. "Okay. On your own head, be it,"

* * *

><p>Slowly coming back to life, Blaine gradually felt the feeling returning to his body and limbs. Ow. His head hurt awfully…had he fallen? He'd walked out of the lounge, and then…where was he? He was on something soft…a bed?…and there was…<p>

There was a soft, cool hand-holding his. And another resting tenderly on his forehead.

Was he dreaming?

Blaine's eyes flew open, and the boy standing over him jumped back a mile, flushing pink. As the world came into focus…Blaine realised, with what was half shock and half delight that it was Kurt. His heart fluttered…

"K-Kurt?" he said, still groggy-which probably wasn't helped by his racing heart.

"Oh thank God!" The pale boy was almost passing out with relief. Blaine noticed tear tracks down his delicate cheeks. "Mr Anderson!"

Blaine didn't understand. What had happened? Looking up at the ceiling…he could see he was back in his room, lying on the large comfortable bed. But why was Kurt here?

"Is he awake?" A man in a dark suit with a small moustache came into view. After a second, Blaine recognised him as the ship's doctor. He peered at Blaine through spectacles. "How are you feeling, Mr Anderson?" he asked, as Kurt hovered anxiously in the background, looking at Blaine like he might explode, obviously wondering whether he should leave.

Blaine prayed he wouldn't.

"Urm…a little dizzy…" Though he wasn't sure whether that was due to his head hurting…or the fact that there was an angel in his room.

"Yes, that's to be expected, sir," the doctor said, checking him over carefully. "Some fall you took there…it was lucky young Kurt found you when he did,"

Blaine was shocked. His eyes fixed on Kurt's lovely, scared face. He couldn't believe it.

"Thank you," he managed to choke out.

"Oh no, that's-" Kurt squeaked. "that's quite okay, M-Mr Anderson,"

He seemed to get scared whenever he spoke to anyone. It was adorable, really. Blaine's heart ached with love for him.

"Your mother is very concerned. If you feel up to it, she'd like to see you?" the doctor was asking.

_I bet_, Blaine thought darkly. "N-not just now. Thank you. But…" He wondered if he dared ask. He looked at Kurt, his porcelain skin glowing even whiter in the pink evening sun. The pure innocence and beauty that so enthralled him, the sweetness of his high voice… "…I-I'd like Kurt to stay, if that's okay…?"

The doctor looked taken aback-but that was nothing compared to the look on Kurt's face.

"Urm…okay," The doctor frowned-but seemed okay with it. "I don't think they'll be any lasting damage. Be sure to send the boy to call me if there's anything wrong,"

He picked up his things, and, giving Kurt a suspicious look-left.

Kurt and Blaine were alone.

Blaine turned to the boy, who was looking frightened-but intrigued as to why he had been asked to stay. There was a silence as they just looked at each other. Blaine wondered if Kurt could possibly feel as he did.

"Y-you can sit down if you like?" Blaine offered. Kurt looked abashed.

"S-sit down?" His eyes were round with shock. "Sir?"

"Sit down, if you like," Blaine repeated, his heartstrings tugging. "Make yourself comfortable,"

Uncertainly, Kurt hesitated for a second-before nervously, but elegantly perching on the very edge of the wooden chair beside Blaine's bed. Careful not to touch the cushion on the seat, he folded one leg daintily over the other and placed his clasped hands on his lap. He looked uncomfortable-but tried not to show it. Obviously, he wasn't used to being asked to sit down by passengers-particularly first-class.

"Thank you for finding me," Blaine said. He didn't mean after the fall.

"Oh! that's quite alright sir," Kurt said quickly. He almost smiled.

"Thank you," he repeated.

And, without him giving it any instructions-once again, Blaine's hand reached out and took Kurt's, squeezing it.

It was as if the hand had a homing signal-it knew where it belonged.

Kurt stared down at their hands, his eyes widening, cheeks blushing a delicate pink-but he did not take it away.

Now or never.

Blaine knew.

He had to say something now, or he never would. If he backed out now, he could spend his whole life wishing he hadn't. Remembering what Louise had said, he took a deep breath. But how to say it? There he was, lying on a bed hold the man of his dreams' hand, and his mind was utterly blank. He was so nervous. More than he ever had been in his life.

But he had to say it.

"Urm…Kurt?" Blaine looked his companion straight in the eyes, glimpsing his personal heaven as he did. He reached out with the other hand, grasping Kurt's in both of his. He felt Kurt shudder slightly-but he looked right back at him.

"Look…"

Blaine couldn't find the words.

But there was Kurt, right beside him.

"Kurt…there is a moment, when you just think: "Oh, there you are. I've…I've been looking for you my whole life,"?"

Kurt blinked, looking confused-but he felt a sharp intake of breath from him. He carried on.

"Well…you were that moment for me, Kurt," He held the hand tighter in his, pulse racing, faster than it ever had on his life…yet somehow, he felt more and more natural. Like this was nothing but right.

Kurt was looking completely shocked.

"I know this is going to sound crazy…" Blaine apologised quickly. "But…hear me out. Please.

"You know on the deck…when you talked about flying all the way out to the horizon? I knew…I knew in that moment I'd fly anywhere with you. I know-I know this is all so fast. This whole thing has been a whirlwind. But…I've never been surer of anything in my life,"

Kurt was silent. He stared back at him, eyes stretched and shocked…but there was a glimmer of hope.

"I'm sorry…but…my heart…it's telling me to give you everything. And I want to. I care so much about you, Kurt, it's unreal. Hell, I know how mad I'm sounding…but that doesn't matter.

"You _move_ me, Kurt.

"Nothing matters to me so much as you. You, and your happiness. And if I could make you happy…" He held Kurt's hand tighter. "My heart is yours. If you want it,"

And then-Blaine didn't even know what happened. But he leaned towards him.

Then-they were absorbed in the most beautiful, magical kiss.

It was like nothing Blaine had ever thought possible. Feeling this person's soft lips on his…he was soaring through the air, his heart had wings. The only real thing was his hand holding tightly to Kurt's. As the kiss deepened, Kurt reached up a hand and stroked Blaine's cheek, touching his hair. It was magic. Pure magic.

Neither ever wanted to let go.

When the kiss finally ended-Blaine didn't have a clue how long it lasted-they both looked shyly down-but smiling. Positively glowing with perfect happiness.

"Oh, Mr Anderson…" Kurt breathed.

"Blaine, Blaine," Blaine took his doll-like face in his hands, their foreheads resting against each other.

"Blaine…" he whispered, as if saying the name of a prince, a god, before Blaine kissed him again. It could have been minutes, hours, days. But Kurt and Blaine kissed, the world around them insignificant, no class boundaries, no nothing. Nothing but love. Kurt was no longer scared, Blaine no longer shy, and that was it. They kissed again and again, as if they'd never stop.

"Kurt Hummel…" There were so many words now. "Please tell me I'm not dreaming,"

"Maybe…but there's nothing wrong with dreaming," Kurt smiled, kissing him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey everyone :D**

**Sorry it's so short, I've been so busy with schoolwork and I've started another fic as well, which was bad of me…sorry! :'(**

**But hopefully this is a nice, quick bit of fluff :')**

**Hope you still enjoy! PVG24601xxx**

_Dear Diary,_

_Although it has been more than a month since that night, only now can I bear to talk of write about it. _

_I will tell the story. I will write exactly what happened on that night; who lived, who died, who was a hero, who was a coward. I know it will help me-but it's so hard. _

_Just writing those words: he's gone._

_There are no words. My sweet boy is gone. _

As it always did, even after the most extraordinary incidents, after night, there came morning, weak sun bleeding through the curtains, casting shadows and pools of light through the room. They cut across Blaine's face-and his eyes slowly opened. And before he'd so much as moved-his face broke into a huge smile.

Last night had been the most wonderful night of Blaine's life. He couldn't believe it. He was Kurt's and Kurt was his. At last, Blaine had found him.

They'd talked all night, conversation broken up by sweet, meaningful kisses. Gently, he'd encouraged Kurt to talk, and his shyness had gradually fallen away, until it felt like they'd known each other forever. Everything about Kurt delighted him, and he fell more and more in love with him. From Kurt's silver bell-like laughter, to his down-cast eyes when he told Blaine his mother had died when he was very young. He loved him more and more, and had finally fallen asleep in the small hours, knowing that Kurt was the only man in the world for him.

Blaine looked across the bed, hoping to see Kurt still perched on the end of the bed, fast asleep against the bedpost as he had been when Blaine closed his eyes last night. But there was no one else in the room. Worriedly, Blaine looked around-then remembered. Of course. Kurt still had to work. Blaine had completely forgotten that he was in fact a crew member.

But not for long. When they reached New York, Blaine would take care of him, look after him properly. He'd never stop until Kurt achieved his Broadway dream. And he'd do everything in his power to make Kurt happy until the day he died.

Humming joyfully to himself, Blaine dressed, wondering where best on this ship to find Kurt. He'd search all day, if he had to. But he didn't even have to leave the room. The moment Blaine had knotted his tie, there was a knock at the door. A small, shy knock. Heart filling, Blaine hurried to open it-and there he was. There stood Kurt, his eyes shining as he looked back at Blaine. He was dressed in his smart uniform, a tea towel tied around his waist, with a tray of a silver coffee pot and cups in his hands. There was a small smile on his face, as he raised an eyebrow. "Good morning, sir. Coffee?" he asked innocently, grin stretching cheekily and adorably.

Blaine laughed, kissing him squarely on the lips. "Bit past that now, hey?"

Kurt giggled prettily. "I swapped around routes with someone, so I could see you," He looked nervously behind him, where a large trolley of similar trays was waiting. "I can't stop long,"

Blaine thought for a second. "Hang on," He stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him, and took a tea towel embossed with the White Star logo off of the trolley. Grinning at Kurt's surprised face, he tied it around his waist, just like Kurt's. "There," he smiled, raising an eyebrow. He made a "_Shh_!" gesture and picking up a tray.

Kurt paused-then looked amazed. "Blaine?"

"Why not? I'll give you a hand. It'll be quicker,"

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Blaine winked at him. "It'll be fun,"

And so, choosing rooms where the occupants didn't know him, Blaine helped Kurt deliver the morning coffee. And it _was_ fun. There was definitely a thrill, knowing that he could be recognised at any time. Blaine had never worked a day in his life, so it was certainly a novelty. He was surprised-no one batted an eyelid at him. Not one of the first-class passengers, some of whom he'd sat feet away from the previous day, paid the slightest bit of attention to the boy bringing them coffee. It was sort of funny-but a little sad at the same time, seeing from the point of view of a crew member how little the higher classes regarded them.

The best bit, of course, was doing it with Kurt. In the corridors, they exchanged small, witty remarks, glances, even a few brief kisses. There seemed to be more of a spring in Kurt's step today, humming softly under his breath as he worked. Blaine still couldn't believe it.

It was almost too good to be true.

* * *

><p>"Listen!"<p>

Suddenly, Rachel grabbed Louise's hand, where they had been taking a morning stroll through the corridors. They snooped-and suddenly heard a burst of laughter from just up ahead. Pure, joyful, a little mad laughter. Not the sound one usually heard amongst first-class cabins.

What's more-Rachel recognised one of the voices.

Still gripping onto each other, Rachel slowly lead her companion forward, until they were hidden just around a corner. Without making a sound-the girls noiselessly edged their heads around the vertex in the hall, so they could see.

For a second, Rachel couldn't believe it. What she _thought _she could see: her best friend Blaine in a heap on the floor, laughing fit to burst, with a slender, pale boy in waiter's clothes. In a tangle of limbs, they giggled like schoolboys after getting away with a prank.

Then Blaine leant over and kissed him adoringly.

Rachel had never seen her friend look so happy, so elated.

"_Awwh_!" Louise beamed beside her. "_Yes_!" She sounded delighted.

And so was Rachel. She'd never been happier for her friend.

Although…there was a little pang. She wished she and Finn could be like this…

What Rachel and Louise did not know-was that they were not alone.

They were not the only people to have seen Kurt and Blaine.

Somebody else had been there.


End file.
